The Golden Harbor
The brass compass in my hands was cold, its needle trembling with a violence that had nothing to do with the wind. I held it up to the grey light of the outpost, watching the needle spin in lazy, confused circles before settling on a point that did not exist on any chart. I am Elias Thorne, forty-two, a cartographer who has spent thirty years measuring the world’s edges, and I have come to the...
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